The Wrong Girl (Return to Fear Street Book 2)

I uttered a groan of pain, shut my eyes, and slid to my back on the floor. I gripped the knife firmly in both hands as I went down.

Screams. Cries. Startled gasps. The ceiling spun above my head.

Keith’s shout rose over the commotion: “Stop this! Stop this! This is crazy! I did it! Not Heather. I did everything.”

Keith grabbed Heather from behind and shoved her away. “You didn’t want to know me! None of you!” he screamed. “I wasn’t good enough for Poppy! I wasn’t good enough for any of you. You didn’t want to know me. No one wanted to know me. No one—”

Marshall made a grab for him. But, his eyes wild, his face bright red, Keith backed out of the cop’s reach. “I wanted to kill you ALL!” he screeched. “You didn’t know me. No one knew me.”

He grabbed his shirt with both hands—and ripped it away. The buttons went flying. He swung his shirt off and tossed it onto the floor.

“Oh no!” I cried. My cry was drowned out by the other wails of surprise in the room.

Keith’s arms and chest . . . They were covered in red cuts and ugly bruises and scabs. I couldn’t see any skin on his shoulders, just deep red cut marks.

“You don’t know me! Do you see? Do you? You don’t know me!” he shrieked.

Marshall wrapped an arm around Keith’s shoulders and pulled him away.

Raap dropped down beside me, his face filled with concern. “Poppy, are you—”

I sat up and raised the knife above my chest. I pushed the blade in and let it slide out. “It’s the fake knife we use for plays,” I explained to the startled, goggle-eyed cop. “See? The blade slides into the handle?”

I handed the knife to my sister. “Heather, you’re a better actress than I thought you were.”

She grinned and reached both hands down to pull me to my feet. “We’re a good team,” she said. “See? We certainly fooled everyone in the room.”

I slid my arm around her shoulders. “Everyone believed us.”

Raap narrowed his eyes at me. “So you two cooked up that whole act?”

I nodded. “In the hall. Just now. We figured if we confessed, the real culprit wouldn’t be able to just stand by.”

“Stabbing Poppy with the knife was my idea,” Heather said.

I shoved her. “I think you enjoyed that too much.”

Heather laughed. “Well . . . your dying scene was your best yet. Mr. G would be proud.”

Marshall was struggling to get Keith’s shirt back on him as he pulled him out of the room. Raap followed, but turned back to the rest of us. “We’ll need statements from you all,” he said. They disappeared into the hall.

Ivy walked over and wrapped me in a hug. “I’m so sorry, Poppy. So sorry I accused you.”

“It’s okay,” I choked out.

“We all jumped to conclusions,” Manny said, mopping sweat off his forehead.

I kept my arm around Heather’s shoulder. “Well, I’ll tell you one thing,” I said, “I think we’re cured. I don’t think any of us want to be famous anymore.”

Heather’s eyes flashed. “‘O Romeo, Romeo,’” she burst out. “‘Wherefore art thou, Romeo?’”

I wanted to tell her that was terrible. But then I figured, it could wait till later.